


Heroine to Housewife

by Chastity



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, stepfordization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chastity/pseuds/Chastity
Summary: A mind controlling lawyer decides to domesticate a gadgeteering heroine, turning the firebrand into his loving, doting housewife. Updating Fridays.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

In this world, there are people with powers. I'm one of them. So is my wife. I picked her specifically for hers.

My power? I control people with my words. Nothing too overwhelming as you might be thinking, there are so many rules and guidelines for it that it's nothing earth-shattering.

The rules for my power are fairly simple:

I give a verbal command to a single person. It does little at that moment, but it intensifies over an hour or so, during which I can't switch targets (well, I can, but it prevents it from taking hold). At that point, it's "set." I can't really replace it; trying to give that person another command ruins the process. But once they have a good night's sleep, the command passes from short-term memory into long-term, or something like that, and becomes a part of them. They don't think about it, they just accept it as part of who they are.

The command has to be simple. One concept, one thing. The words "but" and "and" are pretty much off-limits, though I can pile in adjectives without much issue. "Wisely, lovingly obey me" works as well as "obey me"; "Obey and love me" does not work at all. I can keep adding on with future commands, but it's a once-per-day kind of thing, since they have to sleep on it.

I found a job well-suited to my abilities: I'm a defense attorney. One of the most highly paid in the field, with my own law firm. I specialize in criminal law, and prefer jury trials. All I have to do is say, "You will be unable to find my client guilty" twelve times over twelve days (and trials last much longer than that), and he or she will get off the hook. I prefer cases where my clients are innocent, but the law does require that even the guilty receive a good and vigorous defense. My ability to turn even stacked juries to my client's side is quite famous in the city; sometimes I'll get asked by some young up and comer to teach him or her my ways. I do actually know the law, so I give them the best teaching I can, but naturally I don't tell them about my power.

Given all this, I can have pretty much anything I want. I have friends and acquaintances - much wealthier than myself - who are always happy to see me, and after a few visits, their families are equally excited. My own home is a rather spacious mansion, complete with a backyard pool. Probably too large for one man, but there are appearances to keep up, you know.

I'd planned, during my younger days, to simply go from attractive young woman to attractive young woman without a second thought. Why waste time with a relationship, when variety is the spice of life, and I could simply make someone provide anything I wanted or needed on demand? In retrospect, of course, I simply hadn't met the right woman.

I still remember the day I first laid eyes on her. My client, a wealthy CEO, had been accused by his wife of domestic violence. I ultimately won the day in court, letting him freely return home, and he was in discussions with a more appropriately-oriented firm to handle a civil suit for the false allegation.

A few days later, she appeared on television. She was wearing a ridiculous costume and dragging him into the police station, his knuckles bloody, his wife now in the hospital. Apparently the idiot had decided to take out his 'revenge' on his wife with his fists rather than letting an attorney do it. I had to field some rather tedious questions from the press the next day, thanks to his idiocy. Even if he had beaten his wife before the incident, even if he wanted to punish her, couldn't he just do it the sensible way and let the legal system do it? Lawyers are quite effective at ruining lives, if that's what you want them to do - much more than a pair of fists, at least. She'll be getting quite a bit in damages from that case.

In any case, she caught my eye. She was pretty, and I have to admit, I had become a bit obsessed with her. I hired an excellent private investigator I knew, Matthias Caine, to put together a dossier on her. He did need a bit of a push to be willing to do it, but I'm patient when I need to take the time to get what I want.

After a couple months of tracking her, Matthias had managed to find her secret identity. From that point, it was just a day or two of work to complete his profile.

We met at my home, the somewhat haggard ex-cop having a bad eye and a bum leg, a few scars on his features and a visible tattoo of a serpent slithering up his right arm. I passed Matthias his full envelope of cash as I took the folder from him, and offered him a pleasant smile. "Thank you for your work, Matthias. You are the best."

"You're not going to do anything stupid with this, are you Franklin?"

I laughed. "Come on. I don't do stupid things. It's just curiosity. What possesses someone to dress up like this?"

He shrugged. "Don't know if there are going to be answers to that for you in there, but good luck," he said. He stood up, cracking his shoulders. "See you, Franklin," he said.

"Goodbye, Matthias," I replied, as he left. I took the folder to my office and opened it.

Elizabeth Ross. She had a driver's license, and there was her DMV photo, front and center. I licked my lips as I started to read through the information Mr. Caine had aquired for me. Now that I had her name, I knew that she would become my wife, so it was only appropriate I paid attention to who she was.

She was a young society lady. At nineteen years old, she was the only child of William and Anna Ross, making her the heir to the Ross Corporation, which dealt in medical device manufacture, as well as having some other minor interests. William Ross and his wife had a net worth estimated at some seven billion US dollars - meaning that once I married Ms. Ross, I'd never want for money again. Not that I really wanted for money at that point, but it was the principle of the thing.

Her overall life trajectory was, itself, not overly interesting: from kindergarten on to private schools, tutors, and eventually early enrollment at MIT at the tender age of seventeen. Her test scores were extremely high, apparently having only missed a single question on the Reading & Writing section of the SAT. A smart girl from a rich family. Not much of a story there.

But that kind of resume fodder isn't everything a person's life is; she was apparently notorious for making scenes, including on one occasion striking a police officer for making an untoward pass at her during a traffic stop (she was speeding, allegedly). The charges were dropped, and the officer involved fired - presumably because her parents made it happen, since they were quite powerful in the local community. There were a few other cases, not as striking as that one but drawing from the same general pattern. Scratching up an ex-boyfriend's car for infidelity; writing an opinion piece as a guest author which largely amounted to a broadside shot at a local political candidate who called her (in private conversation that was recorded and reported to the press) a 'stupid little rich girl'; as well as a number of tumultuous and short-lived relationships that showed up in the gossip columns of the local rags.

The opinion piece was the most enlightening, since it was the one with the most detail, and the one that carried the most of _her_. Two hundred and sixty seven words of a systematic, carefully calibrated attack on the man - it showed real wit and venom, providing intriguing suggestions of corruption, infidelity, stupidity, and general malfeasance. I think I may even have read it before then: it got passed around a fair bit.

Her pictures were a collection of photos from various papers and, presumably, an image search - it's not as though she was a hard woman to take a photograph of, being in the public eye as she was. She was an erudite beauty; long, rich red hair, her expression varying between a fun-loving smile and an angry scowl. Plush, full lips... and a body to die for. Breasts that were so large, round and firm that they looked almost fake, but that Mr. Caine was quite certain were not (she'd had them since she was fifteen). She was slim, with somewhat toned legs and ass, giving her a gorgeous hourglass figure that was put on full display in that particular dress.

Then there was the career of her as a superheroine. Caine had put a few informed guesses as to what her costume actually _was_. The core of it was sleek, a red skintight thing looking like a ski suit, and he thought it was likely to be some kind of "dilatant material," which apparently hardens under pressure to provide her with seemingly inhuman durability without costing flexibility. It showed off her every curve, which was part of what had initially drawn me to her. Her helmet was sleek, looking somewhere between an astronaut's and a motorcyclist's, with the entire front simply looking like a green-grey mirror, hiding her face completely.

She also carried an assortment of various devices out with her when she was 'fighting crime,' including a jetpack that I'd seen, and some type of long-range stun weapon that I hadn't. The collection was varied in its composition, with some items never being seen twice (not good enough? Trying new things? Field tests?). Among them were energy shields, magnetic anti-ballistic defense, some kind of energy sword that didn't cause actual damage but did cause excruciating pain when it intersected a target... she was either a genius, or working with one, and Caine was quite certain it was the former.

I licked my lips again as I closed the file, taking a photograph from it to admire. Her, in an elegant black dress that showed off every curve, sipping at something that was presumably not wine as she talked to other society debutantes, wearing a warm smile and a lovely silver necklace. This young lady would become my wife, soon enough.

The question was... how to approach her? What to say? She was high society, and I was high enough in the world - and more than capable of the necessary manipulations - that I could likely find an excuse to show up at this or that function and get a moment alone. With her somewhat intense personality, however, it was very possible that she would take offense, especially given I was nearly twice her age.

I needed to have a plan in mind on how to handle things, how to lay the groundwork to future meetings without setting her off. I carefully considered my options.

I felt that it would be in my best interest to create a situation where I could interact with her in a more controlled context. The less of an opportunity for the young Ms. Ross to leave before my power could take, the better. Further, her father - though my senior by the better part of a decade - was a more plausible individual for someone like myself to speak to. Talking to young women half my age might lead to long, pleasant flings, but most folks frowned on it, and a firebrand like Elizabeth Ross could make it difficult.

I investigated and settled upon a charity dinner for homeless youths, a known pet project of Mr. Ross, which he would doubtless attend. It would be a quite expensive buy-in - some ten thousand dollars a plate - but I don't exactly want for money in any case. The opportunity to speak to him was too good to pass up.

So it was that over a week later, one lazy Saturday, I arrived in my best suit, with a check for ten thousand dollars and a good bit more money waiting to be blown on some poor children whose parents had thrown them out. After some speechifying by various long-winded and uncharismatic rich men, I found my opening to speak to Mr. Ross. He was a man who had perhaps gained twenty or thirty pounds too many (mostly around the stomach), but was otherwise cleanshaven and took care of himself, with a head of jet black hair and a square jawline.

"Ah, are you Mr. Ross?" I asked, giving my most winning smile and offering my hand.

He took it, shaking it with a smile of his own. "That I am. I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Mr...?"

"Valentine. Franklin Valentine."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "The famous defense attorney."

I gave him my most humble smile. "I suppose that's what other people call me. If I might offer my card?"

"Oh, go ahead," he said, in good spirits. "I don't think I'll be needing it any time soon, but it never hurts."

"It certainly does not," I agreed, with a smile of my own, handing over my card. He took it, gave it a quick once over, and placed it in the breast pocket of his jacket. I continued to speak. "To be honest, I have been thinking of redirecting the emphasis of my firm." He tilted his head, clearly interested in what I had to say next. "Something like this -" I said, with a gesture. "I've made plenty of money, but perhaps my talents could be better served helping the indigent from the depredations our system sometimes inflicts upon them, than on helping the already powerful."

He laughed good-naturedly. "That's certainly a big step to take," he said, in a voice that suggested it was a warning.

"Of course, we'd still do some of our old business - there are salaries to pay, rent, and so forth. It's something I've been toying with. I'm told a good amount of your company's revenues and production goes into charity."

"It does. But, to be entirely honest?" I nodded, wanting to hear more. "In my business, the good will can help buy things that money never could on its own - getting one's foot in the door with hospitals or politicians. I don't know if it's quite the same for a legal firm."

"That is a fair point, one I had not fully considered. People aren't exactly fond of defense attorneys in the best of times." Another laugh from him. "As I recall, your wife, she also helped found the company?"

"Oh, yes. She's quite the workaholic. It would never have gotten where it is today without her."

"I don't suppose it could be arranged for me to have the chance to talk to her, as well? Oh, I'm sorry," I said quickly, as if apologetic about the untoward request. "It's just that I was thinking it would be wonderful if you invited me over for dinner with your family." I targeted my power at him, activating it without a sound or detectable shift in my body language. "But I can hardly expect you to make such an invitation, so off-handedly. My apologies."

"It's quite alright," he said, with a good natured smile. "I'm not offended. It sounds like you're just a bit nervous about taking such a large step, and it's understandable. My advice?" I nodded, gesturing for him to go on. "Take it slow. One percent for a month or two, then two percent, and so on. Set a plan. If you're ever in a situation where you're beginning to feel the proverbial waistband tighten, stop, or go back a step or two."

"Thank you very much for your advice. I hope I haven't bothered you."

"Oh, no," he said, with a shake of his head. "It's pleasant to talk to someone who isn't here just for networking, but is sincere about helping others."

I just smiled at him, with as sincere an expression as I could muster. "I'll not take up more of your time, then," I said, taking a step back. He soon began to speak to others, and I mulled around, being sure to keep him within the range of my power as it gradually took hold. The charity dinner was boring besides that, so I won't waste your time.

That Monday, I received an invitation for dinner the next day at seven, which I naturally accepted.

When the time came, I brought a bottle of champagne with me to the Ross mansion. It was easily two or three times the size of my own, probably too spacious for a family of three, but hell, I can't say mine wasn't as indulgent. A rap on the door a few times, and who should answer but the young Elizabeth Ross?

She was as beautiful in person as she was on the television screen as the Ruby Shield or in the photographs from her dossier. She obviously wasn't dressing up, but she had a natural elegance to her that exuded from her nonetheless. Her dark blue dress didn't plunge to show off cleavage, but it was drawn tight across her bust, waist, and hips. Its sleeves reached to just beyond her elbows, puffy but tightening at the end into circlets. The dress reached to just a bit below her knees, and had this similarly-colored sash-belt keeping it tight around the waist.

She smiled politely at me, obviously not particularly interested in me as a person. "Mr. Valentine?"

"Yes," I said, with a smile. "I'm here for dinner?"

"Yes, my father mentioned as much. Come in," she said, opening the door wider. "You can take the champagne to the dining room, it's just past that door."

For a moment, I considered giving her some command, but I couldn't immediately devise something appropriate for the context, so I let the moment pass, heading through the door to the dining room. It was a fairly standard rich person dining room - chandelier, large table for ten people to eat at even though typically it would be three, a rich tablecloth, fine china set out. Mr. Ross smiled as I entered. "Welcome," he said, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. "Dinner will be just..." he paused, looking at his watch, "another ten minutes. Our cook has to finish things up."

"Of course," I agreed, with a calm smile on my lips. I gestured with the champagne to ask for his directions on where to put it.

"Let me see?" I handed it over. "A fine vintage," he said, with a smile. "Let's put it on the table," he said, simply placing it down in the middle. "Allow me to collect my wife."

The dinner itself was nothing overly special, certainly not by the standards of a man who can ensure that his hosts prepare only the absolute best that they can, and is quite familiar with a variety of very wealthy families. When all were settled in, I immediately set about doing what I came here to do - establishing the first step of control over the young Ms. Elizabeth Ross. The sooner, the better, because I couldn't know for certain how long I would be staying here, or how long Elizabeth would be at the table.

I turned to her mother, Anna. "William was just telling me recently that without you, the company would never have gotten where it was today. Were I your husband, I would be incredibly happy to know that you want to be my wife." My words were, again, plain-spoken, indistinguishable from the sentences around them, but this time, my power was targeted at Elizabeth.

Anna smiled at that, reaching over to pat her husband's hand. "He really is a sweetheart," she said, with a smile on her lips. She wasn't quite as beautiful as her daughter - likely not even when she was a younger woman - but she was certainly pretty, a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose, chestnut brown hair wavy around her features. "Thank you for the compliment. While I'm proud of the Ross Corporation, it is sometimes a bit of a hit to know that the world at large rarely attributes its success anywhere near my direction." She leaned over, pecking her husband on the cheek. "Though of course the most important man's opinion matters to me the most." She squeezed her husband's hand.

We talked a bit, about my hypothetical charity cases, about the Ross Corporation, about philanthropy in general. Elizabeth was quiet, almost dour, as she ate her meal. As I watched her out of the corner of my eye, I fast began to conclude that she was planning to leave before the meal was finished, and, being an adult, would likely be allowed to do so.

I, of course, could not let this happen - I was fairly certain my power had not yet fully taken hold on her. So I prompted her. "You've been very quiet, Ms. Ross," I told her, with a polite smile. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yes," she said, staring daggers at me. "You."

I tilted my head, pretending not to understand. Inside my chest, my heart raced at the implausible thought that perhaps she had some sort of mental shielding device, or had otherwise detected and preempted my power, and that I had overstepped and was about to get in quite a lot of legal trouble. "How so?" Regardless of whether or not she knew, there was absolutely no sense in confessing.

"Jane Carmichael. Does that name mean anything to you?"

My heart kept pounding - that kind of elevation in intensity doesn't vanish the moment you learn you're safe - but I felt a sense of relief that I only barely managed to hide in my expression and body language. She was just thinking of my involvement with Mrs. Carmichael's husband, who she had dragged into the police station herself. "The wife of one of my clients," I admitted.

"What was that client being accused of?" She asked, with a tilt of her head and a sour expression.

"Assault and battery." I paused, to drag it out a bit further. "Against his wife."

"Which he promptly did again the second he had the chance," she half-spat.

At this point her father spoke up. " _Elizabeth_ ," he said, his voice sharp.

"It's quite alright," I said, with a polite smile. "Even the guilty deserve their fair shake in court," I explained, turning back to Elizabeth. "Besides which, as I stated in press conferences after the fact, I had no way of knowing whether or not he actually beat his wife." Besides mind controlling him into confessing to me, I suppose.

"You help these slimeballs slink away from their crimes," she said, raising her fork at me with a vaguely threatening expression on her face.

"Elizabeth." It was her mother's turn to try to interrupt. "This is not appropriate behavior at the dinner table with a guest."

I just smiled. "No, no, it's quite alright. I really would like to discuss this, if Elizabeth is so interested," I said.

"Well. I suppose," her mother said, obviously surprised I wasn't taking deep offense at Elizabeth's words.

Elizabeth frowned, squinting at me with some degree of uncertainty. As if she wasn't quite able to understand where I was coming from. "I guess I am interested," she said, at last, losing some of her bite from the sudden lurch in the direction the conversation was going.

"Everyone, even the guilty, deserves fair representation. The United States uses an adversarial legal system - that means that there is a party whose job is to put forward the best possible evidence for the defendant, and a party whose job it is to put forward the best possible evidence against him or her. It's up to the jury to decide, and in this case, the evidence was, frankly, insufficient. Even a much worse lawyer than myself would have managed to get him off - I did it while taking quite a bit of his money."

"So that's your excuse? That you're taking money from him?"

"No. As I said, my 'excuse'," I said, putting a little contempt into the word, to get her riled up so she wouldn't back down from the argument, "is that the entire United States legal system is built around 'scumbags' like Nathan Carmichael getting their full legal defense. Surely you wouldn't like it if you were arrested and accused of some crime, and no one would defend you because they'd already decided you were guilty?" I absently bit into the delicious garlic bread they had as I awaited her response.

"There's plenty of people better than that jackass to defend," she replied. "You're one of the best defense attorneys in the world, and you're wasting your talent helping a wifebeater."

I shrugged my shoulders. "That wifebeater is also the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company that recently unveiled a program - admittedly heavily based in PR - to distribute antivirals in poor African countries. Besides which," I said, pausing to take a sip of my drink, "I'm no longer representing Mr. Carmichael. I don't take dead end cases - that's part of why I have an almost perfect record."

"So once they're too obviously guilty, then they don't deserve a good defense?" She was clever and quick, at least, turning my own words against me.

I shrugged again. Honestly, I wasn't in the legal profession for its moral purity, just for my natural talent. But the little argument was enjoyable enough, and buying me the time I needed to get my power to work. "I'd prefer to maintain my reputation than to go down with the proverbial ship. Our system is built to encourage exactly that behavior - and it's not built by some random idiots. The United States has the oldest constitution in the world because our institutions, including our criminal justice system, are among the most well-designed on the planet."

"Something can be stable and also wrong," she shot back.

"You're welcome to try to change it," I replied. "Tell you what, when you run for office, I'll vote for you." Of course, that would never happen. Being a State Senator or Mayor or whatever else effectively precluded being a housewife, which was the role she was actually destined for.

She snorted. "Yeah, okay," she said, leaning back. Her eyes considered me, like I was prey and she was predator. She absently played with her knife in one hand, and I'm not quite certain she even realized she was doing it. Then she turned back to her meal, and ate.

"Well," William said, in the silence that followed. "Quite the conversation. Elizabeth can be a bit... opinionated, as you can see."

"An opinionated young woman is a good thing, I say," I lied through my teeth without giving the slightest hint that I didn't believe what I was saying. One talent you pick up as a lawyer. "It's not the nineteenth century any longer, women are allowed to vote and all that."

Anna gave a little laugh at the phrasing of 'and all that.' "Yes, I suppose it isn't," she agreed.

When the conversation returned to its casual pace, Elizabeth participated, if only lightly, and she stuck around for dessert, which I'd worried she wouldn't do. It gave my power all the time I needed to affect her mind, and I left on fairly good terms with the family.


	2. Chapter 2

It was over a week later when I next heard from Elizabeth. The delay made me worry that perhaps my power hadn't taken hold properly, or she'd developed some device that counteracted its effects, but that had not been the case. She called my firm one Friday afternoon - not having my personal number - and it was quite the delightful call to receive.

"Ms. Ross," I said, once my secretary put her through. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I could practically hear her squirm on the other end of the line. Asking someone out is always an anxiety-inducing task to the inexperienced. I imagine she didn't have to do it often - being beautiful, smart, rich, and (most importantly) female, meant she was going to always be on the receiving end of that kind of attention - so she didn't have the opportunity to get inured to the feeling. "I was calling to ask if you'd like to talk. In person. Maybe over dinner tomorrow." I smiled as I listened to her stumble around asking me out.

"That sounds wonderful," I said, with a genuine smile that hopefully carried into my voice. "Did you have a place to do so in mind?"

I could hear her swallow on the other end of the line, the brief pause. Anxiety, or did she not have something in mind in advance? "How about Potente?" She said, suggesting an upscale Italian restaurant in the area.

"That works for me. Does seven work for you?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow at seven." She agreed like she was halfway trying to steel herself to accept, completing some previously-resisted resolution.

"I'll be looking forward to it. If that's all...?"

"Oh. Yeah. That's all. Thanks. Bye."

"Goodbye, Ms. Ross." She hung up pretty much immediately after I said those words, and I returned to my work, whistling a bit.

I considered bringing a small gift to the date, but even having Matthias's profile on her, nothing inexpensive and personal exactly jumped out. The closest I could come up with would have been some introduction to law book, but, while she was obviously interested in _arguing_ about it, I was dubious it would be taken in the spirit of a thoughtful purchase fitting to her interests.

I arrived at Potente first; a glance at my watch showed it was 6:57, and I asked after a reservation - fortunately, Ms. Ross had indeed made one. I waited at our table for only a few minutes before she arrived. "Ah, Elizabeth," I said, with a pleasant smile, waving to her.

She smiled back, more plastic on her face than mine, and came to the table. "Franklin," she said, as if trying the word on her tongue for the first time. Her choice of dress was striking, black with its topmost portion having a triangular shape that obscured her cleavage, eight thin straps wrapping around and over her shoulders. Her arms were bare, and the entire thing reached to just above the knees.

She was obviously nervous, her body language stilted as she took her seat. She tried to hide it, smiling at me, but it was obvious that this was her first time being the approacher rather than the approached. She brushed a finger absently through her hair, her lips twitching a little, as if not sure quite what expression she should be wearing. "This is a very nice restaurant," she decided on saying, after a second or two. "Have you been here before?"

"Oh, once or twice," I said. "Clients and such."

She nodded. "If you haven't tried it, I'd recommend the fettucine alfredo."

I gave my menu only a cursory glance before nodding. "It does look good. Do you have any recommendations for an appetizer? Last time I was here I think we had something that is no longer on the menu... Sedano, I believe it was?"

"Mm. In all honesty, their appetizers aren't very good," she said, losing some of the anxiety in the casual conversation. "I'd recommend just skipping them."

"I'll trust your wisdom," I replied, putting my menu down. "I do have one quick question. Who will be paying? Typically it's the man, but I'd hate to offend," I explained.

"Oh," was her reply, as she took a moment to consider the question. "Since I asked you here, I suppose I'll pay." Thereby tacitly confirming the obvious - that this was a date.

"Excellent. I'll just order six bottles of their most expensive wine..." She actually laughed. It was a nice laugh, almost raucous, but not quite. "Might I ask as to what in particular you wished to talk about?"

She paused, a sort of brief confusion or uncertainty on her face. "Oh, I wanted to get to know you better," she decided on. "Our conversation last week was interesting. I hope I didn't come across as too hostile."

"No, of course not," I said, smiling. "A modern woman with deeply held opinions is a unique pleasure to modernity. Not like the woman of past ages who thought a wife's duty is to submit to her husband." Again, my power was activated, completely imperceptibly. She offered a half-relieved smile. "So, getting to know me better, then?"

"Right." She leaned forward in her seat. With her choice of clothes, it didn't improve the view of cleavage - given er dress showed none - but with the size of her bust, it still drew attention to it. "What do you do when you're not being an evil defense attorney?" She gave an ironic little smile at that, half-joking, half-trying to push my buttons.

"Well." I considered the question. "Often, I'll spend time with beautiful women," I say, "rather like this. Dinners with friends or colleagues or clients. Reading, naturally."

"What sort of books?"

"Mostly history, anthropology, and of course the law," I explained. "Do you read much?"

"Oh, more than much," she said, flashing a winning smile that showed her top row of teeth. "Mathematics, computer science, engineering, physics. I'm pursuing a degree in mechanical engineering, and I enjoy the applied side of things. Making things with my own hands."

"Sounds fascinating."

"It is," she agreed. "You mentioned beautiful women. Any in particular taking up your time?"

"No," I said. "I'm afraid my relationships tend to be rather short."

She nodded. "I know that feeling." She gave a mild little smile. "Any incredible stories of horrible breakups you want to share?"

"No, no," I said. "Thus far, all my breakups are mutual and cordial."

"That's quite some luck," she replied, sounding unbelieving.

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's the truth. It's always the same story: I get tired of her, she gets tired of me, and things end." The fact that my power helped ensure that was always the case was something she most certainly did not need to know. "I take it by your tone that the endings to your past love affairs have been more dramatic?"

She laughed, a slight self-deprecating tone to it. "By quite a margin." She absently took a drink of her water, as if buying time. "Half of them seem to worm their way into the local papers."

"Young men these days, hm?" I said, with a little smirk, and she laughed again.

"Young men these days," she agreed. "So when you were their age, you knew how to treat a lady?"

I laughed at that, some old memories of youthful indiscretions of varying severities running through my mind. "No, I admit I did not. Perhaps it would be more honest to say young men in general. Fortunately, I'm older and wiser now," I explained.

"Fortunately." She leaned forward a bit, her expression thoughtful as she considered me. "You mentioned to my father you were thinking of going into a more charitable sort of work?"

"Ah, yes," I agreed, straightening up my back. It had been a lie to worm my way in, but I could hardly abandon it so soon. "It's all preliminary right now."

A waiter came to our table, and we put in our orders, both selecting the fettucine alfredo.

"Still," she said, continuing our conversation, "it's a good thought. I think you should follow through on it."

I wasn't particularly inclined to care, really - I had plenty of money in the bank, more than enough to keep me in the black for decades if I decided to switch to solely pro bono work, and I would soon enough have this pretty little only child and heir to a seven billion dollar fortune on my arm - but I wasn't going to cede ground unnecessarily. "It's not even necessarily myself," I explained. "My firm employs over forty people. We do have a bit of a war chest, but not enough to just give up on making money."

"You can get donations. I'm sure my father would be willing to offer you at least some money, just for starters. People like charity."

"I'm not saying no," I said. I was thinking it, however. "It's just harder than you think to make that sort of shift."

She gave a little twist of her lips, as if considering something unpleasant or difficult. "I see." She absently took another drink. "Let's discuss something else," she decided on. "Your romantic life."

"There really isn't much to say."

"Mm, perhaps not in retrospect," she allowed, though I could still hear in her voice that she found my story of mutual and pleasant breakups dubious. "But in prospect. Do you think you might find that right woman some day, and if so, what would you do with her?"

"I certainly do hope I find such a woman," I told her. It would come off as overly forward to say that it would be her, even if she was already hoping for such an ending. "As to what I would do - marry her, naturally."

"Mhm," she said, with a little hum of consideration.

"I have a small confession to make," I said, with a hand gesture showing its appropriately small size. "I have seen your name once or twice in a magazine. One of which may have been relating to you keying an ex's car."

"That," she said, raising one finger pointedly, "was never proven. The magazine in question is very lucky that it pretends to be parody."

"As otherwise it would be defamation per se?"

"Precisely," she agreed, taking a sip of her water.

"If, hypothetically, though..." I said, "some occasion arose for you to key an ex-boyfriend's car. What might drive you to such extremes?"

"He would have to be a real jackass," she said, with a little smirk.

"Be more specific. I've been described as a jackass on a few occasions. Am I at risk?"

"You are not an ex. But, hypothetically, you would probably have to do something like, oh, I don't know..." she trailed off airily, waving a hand at the air, leaning back in her seat as if she was thoughtfully considering it. "Cheat on me with another woman, and give her the gifts I gave you." It was obvious that this was a masked confession, and equally obvious that she didn't feel a single inch of remorse for what she'd done. She was proud; that much was obvious by the way she was smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

I decided to act as though her emotional volatility was of no concern to me. "Oh, so you're the gift giving type of girl?"

She laughed at that. "I do give a few, I suppose."

"What sort of amazing gift did this hypothetical jackass give away?"

She frowned a bit. An unpleasant memory. I prepared to change the subject, but she responded before I could. "I made him a watch."

"A watch?" An unusual gift.

"It was a very nice watch. Waterproof to over two hundred fifty meters of pressure, showed date and time, used GPS to set the timezone so you didn't have to fiddle with it on the plane... it was even programmed to give a special little message on our anniversary."

"Oof," I responded. "That must have been quite a bit of work."

"It was. I spent two weeks, machining the parts. I don't have any photos of it any more, but it was also very nice externally, too. You would take it for a Rolex or similar, if you saw it. A nice red and silver color. Very distinctive. I don't know why he thought he could get away with it," she said, sourly.

"Sorry if I ruined the mood," I said.

"No, no, it's quite alright. I'm very glad that whoever it was keyed up that stupid vintage sports car of his. Least he deserved." She smiled wickedly. "It's not such a bad memory when it's in its context."

"Yes, it definitely sounds like he deserved it." At that point, our waiter arrived, meal in hand, and we both fell silent as he placed down the plates. Elizabeth licked her lips at the sight of them.

"Anything else?"

"No, not for the moment," I said. He bowed his head and left us to eat in peace.

Elizabeth immediately started to dig in, practically moaning at the taste of it on her tongue. I was a bit more circumspect about my enjoyment, but it was quite good.

"How did you find out?" I asked. She glanced at me, currently distracted by the food on her tongue. Her expression suggested she'd lost the thread of the conversation. "About him re-gifting the watch."

She swallowed the food in her mouth. "Oh. It had a..." she paused, trying to think of how to explain it. "It was made so you could access it by phone. I was thinking I could set in dates and things like that, little messages or surprises. It also meant you could track it down, or make it play an audio file, so when he told me the band had snapped at some point and he'd lost it, I figured I could go track it down, surprise him by finding it."

"And instead you found the other woman?"

"Oh yes." Her fingers played with her fork for a moment, then she took another bite of fettucine alfredo. She moaned at the taste, before she continued. "This is really good," she noted, with a quick gesture. "Some people, you know, they assign blame to the wrong person. They blame the other woman, when the true responsibility lies with the cheater. I," she said, with emphasis, "believe in attributing fault to the faulty. That's the cornerstone of justice."

"More important is attributing innocence to the innocent," I pointed out.

"Exactly. The other woman, she just thought her boyfriend had gotten her a really lovely watch. I had to show her the 'from Elizabeth' inscription on the inside of the back cover to convince her it was mine. If you ask me?" I nodded. "She's probably the one who actually keyed his car," she explained, with a tone of ironic detachment that made it clear she was insincere.

I just smiled. "Seems like a prime suspect. No wonder that the police couldn't pin down who did it."

She just nodded in agreement.

The rest of the date was pleasant: the meal was nice, and the company even better. By the time the date was through, we'd established a good bit of rapport, if partly due to my saying the things she obviously wanted to hear. Anything that actually bothered me, I could correct later, so what would be the purpose in pointing it out?

"Would you like to do this again sometime?" She asked, as she took the bill from the waiter, pulling out a debit card and signing the bill. "Talk," she clarified. "Enjoy one another's company."

"That does sound lovely."

"Perhaps next time you can pick the venue, and pay the bill."

"Just as long as you don't order six bottles of the most expensive wine."

"I promise. Only five," she quipped back.

"Thank you for your consideration for my wallet."

"If we're going to do this again, perhaps we should exchange numbers?" She said, pulling out her phone, which was both striking and oddly shaped. I didn't recognize the design - it looked a bit like those ones with the foldout keyboard, but I didn't see a brand name. She caught me staring. "Oh, I made it," she explained. "Don't want Apple or the FBI or their ilk spying on me. All custom, including the OS."

"Impressive." I pulled out my own phone, feeling a bit outmatched. Mine was just a thousand dollar smartphone.

We exchanged numbers, and she even gave me a call to make sure she had mine put in correctly. "Great," she said, with a winning smile. "I'll hear from you again, and soon?" It was obvious by the way she talked that she really hated being the one to make the first move.

"Yes, of course," I said. We stood up from the table, and parted ways, each heading to our respective vehicles.


	3. Chapter 3

I had to consider what exactly my next move would be. My work so far, combined with a little bit of charm, had meant she'd enjoyed our date enough to clearly want a second, but that didn't mean my work was done by any means.

I waited until Monday to call her back, not wanting to appear overly enthusiastic. She picked up almost instantly. "Franklin?" She asked, sounding like she had me on speaker.

"Yes," I said. "I was calling about setting something up with you later this week. Do you have free time come Friday afternoon?"

"Yeah," she replied, with a kind of absent attention. "Where to?"

"Would a trip to the Air and Space Museum interest you?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"Oh, well, no," she replied. "Kind of. It's fine. I'm just in the middle of a little... project. I'm just driving right now. I tend to get a little curt."

"I see. Well, I'd hate for you to get into an accident on my account," I said. "I'll see you, Friday, 3 PM, at the Air and Space Museum?"

A momentary pause. "Added to my day planner. See you." She hung up at that point.

I absently toyed with my phone, thinking about her behavior. Was she driving? Or perhaps something else altogether? I took note of the call's time, and paid attention to the news media. Naturally, it did in fact turn out that she had taken down a drug transport, leaving it for the cops to find. I couldn't help but feel mildly irritated that she'd been so preoccupied with that nonsense that she'd been so clipped with me. Still. Easy enough to correct, in time.

"Elizabeth!" I smiled as I saw her. She was wearing this lovely dark blue-black dress, with a fairly low cut cleavage line, that also showed off quite a bit of her backside. The lower dress was fairly wide, reaching to her knees, and she was wearing a pair of modest heels as she stepped up towards me.

"Franklin," she said, with a smile. "Shall we go inside?"

"We shall," I said, offering her my arm, which she took quite eagerly. I paid for our tickets, and soon enough I was inside with a pretty young thing on my arm.

I had done my research on the museum, and had already worked out how to find my opportunity to introduce my latest command. I suggested we begin with the history of early flight section; from the Wright Brothers, through to the first World War.

One of the exhibits had caught my eye online: a little bit about Harriet Quimby, an early female aviator who died in 1912. When we came to the exhibit, I read over it briskly. "It's tragic, how a figure like this could wind up almost written out of history. It reminds me a bit of how your mother did so much for the Ross Corporation, and yet gets so little credit. Some days I feel as if people fetishize domestic housewifery," I said, applying my power to her as I spoke, "when a proper partner is so much more appealing."

"Okay, um," she said, interrupting me. "You're laying it on thick."

"Hm?" I asked, confused.

"This is the second time in two dates that you've had a little spiel about how you love modern women, with their opinions and their voting rights. I assume it's because you're older than me, and you want me to think you're hip and progressive, and not some old fogey woman-hating he-man?" She asked, squinting a bit, confused. "You're only like thirty five or whatever. I don't think you're trying to shepherd me into the kitchen, and it's weird to keep bringing it up. So, could you dial it back? Just talk to me like a normal person?"

"Oh, of course," I said. How to recover. "I didn't realize it was bothering you. I'm just a bit nervous," I said. True, but that wasn't the reason why I was saying those things.

"It's cool. Just... stop it. You sound like some twenty year old dweeb with no balls, _and_ like you care more about my mom's 'lack of recognition' than she does."

"Alright. Consider it stopped." I tried not to let my irritation come through in my voice, though I'm not sure how well I succeeded. "Please," I said, bringing up my hands. "Let's drop it, it's just embarrassing me at this point."

"Right, yeah," she said, nodding along. "Back to the exhibits?"

"Sure," I agreed.

As we walked and looked around, we talked. "You're in college, right? MIT?"

"I'm home for the summer semester. I'm doing a couple minor courses online, fill out my transcript. You know."

"Not really. Law school was a real grind. Barely even had sex."

"Oh?" She gave me a little look. "Barely?"

"Yes. Barely." I wore my most winning smile as I said it.

"Compared to before, or after?" She was wearing this pleased little look, like she was enjoying annoying me.

"Can't a thing be barely without having to be compared?"

"Sure. But."

"Fine. Before. I had..." I pursed my lips. "When I was in college, I attained a bachelor's in communications. I had to work at the same time, to put myself through college. But... I may have had more than one girlfriend."

"Wow," she said, with feigned awe. "More than one girlfriend? A whole... two girlfriends?"

"Three." She play-gasped. I considered, idly, if I should correct her misapprehension, then decided to go for it. "Simultaneously."

"You were a cheater?"

"Oh no. They all knew each other. I was roommates with all of them by the end of college."

Her eyes went wide, and she blinked a few times, seemingly not believing me. "Come on. You're fucking with me."

I raised my hands defensively. "It's the truth."

"Uh huh." She kept staring at me.

"They're all married now. No threat to you."

"Oh, you think I'm threatened?" She pointed to herself in a sort of ridiculous pantomime. "Hey. I could have like six boyfriends at the same time, if I wanted."

"I'm certain you could," I agreed, politely.

"I just think that you're maybe upselling a little."

"You can believe what you like. The relationship fell apart once I was in law school, and I never bothered to repeat the experiment." Because even with my power, dealing with three women simultaneously was a way to consume an inordinate amount of time.

"Mhm," she said, with a vague disinterest. She glanced over at the exhibit - one of those 'walls of history,' with photographs and dates and such. She stepped towards a photograph of a large balloon, with some people standing in front of it. It piqued Elizabeth's interest. 'Project Echo,' the text below it explained. Some kind of high altitude balloon. "I made one of these, you know," she said, gesturing at the photo.

"A balloon?"

"Yes, a balloon," she said, with a sardonic tilt to her voice. "A high altitude balloon. Well, technically I used slightly different materials, but yeah. Smaller, more car sized. It got to 25.4 km up at its apex."

"Any particular reason to make such a balloon?" I asked, glancing down at the photo's description for a moment.

"I thought it'd be fun."

"Was it?" I turned my attention back to her.

She waggled her hand, smiling a little. "Fun enough. More coloring book stuff than what I really like, though. Margins on spacecraft and that kind of thing are pretty slim. It forces similarities in design, no real room to get creative because you have so little spare to work with. Felt more like writing a transcript than a novel, if you know what I mean."

I obviously did not, but nodded politely. "When was this?"

"Let me think," she said, closing one eye as she tried to mentally place the event. "About eight years ago?"

"So you were eleven at the time?" I cocked an eyebrow.

She nodded. "Don't be too impressed. Weather balloons can get higher than 30km, easy. It was supposed to go into near space."

"Still. I take it you were working from scratch?"

"Not quite scratch, but I wasn't disassembling and reassembling a weather balloon, if that's what you mean."

"You're not planning to go into spacecraft design, I'm guessing."

"Nah," she agreed. "I'm thinking something... well, I'm not really sure, honestly. I keep toying with different stuff. If you could see everything I've made in my shop, you'd shit bricks."

"I imagine I would," I agreed. I had a pretty good idea of what that list would include, but it was by no means definitive. "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

She paused for a moment, tilting her head. "Married, a world famous scientist and inventor, with one or two kids. You?"

"Something close," I said. "More of what I have now, a beautiful woman to share my life with, some kids..."

"Sounds like a great dream," she replied, with a nod. She paused momentarily, as if something was on the tip of her tongue, but then she let it pass. "Let's keep going."

We wandered for a while more. I picked her brain about this and that, and she picked mine back. Casual conversation, sometimes with a bit of flirting, or other times with her explaining some interesting design principle that related to a particular exhibit.

We got a bit of the concession stand food at the museum and took a seat on a bench. Elizabeth started absently talking in between bites of her hot dog on a stick. "This was nice. Any good plans for the next date?"

"Mm," I said. "Nothing immediately comes to mind."

"You know, I had a little thought." I quirked an eyebrow. "Tiny thought. You've seen my home, but I haven't seen yours."

"Oh? Any particular part of my home that draws your interest?" I teased.

She blushed, but fired back. "Your garage? I assume you've got a big box of manly tools."

"I'm afraid all I have is a small box of manly tools," I said. "Screwdriver tips and pliers and a couple other things."

"Even better. Precision is a key part of any delicate work. Machinig's like making love, in that way." She slurped the last bit of her hot dog off the stick, with a seductive movement that was reminiscent of certain sexual acts. She licked her lips when she was done. "Just a thought. I'm sure you can come up with something suitably lovely. I look forward to our next date," she said, with a winning smile, before standing up and throwing away the stick. She came back and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, brief and soft, her ruby red lips pressing against mine. Her cheeks were a rosy pink hue as she pulled back. "I'll be looking forward to whatever you come up with," she said.

"I'll try to make sure my ideas are good enough for you," I replied.

"That's the spirit." She smiled at me. "See you then, Franklin."

"See you then, Elizabeth." I watched as she walked off into the distance. She was a seductive young thing, that was quite certain.


	4. Chapter 4

I invited her over for an evening dinner the next Saturday. I even paid a chef to cook the meal - steak, some sweet potato fries as a bit of a side dish, a nice roll of freshly baked bread, and a second side of salad. I wasn't exactly sure what she liked, so I decided to include more rather than less. What didn't get eaten could be had the next day.

There is nothing quite so nice as having a beautiful woman ring your doorbell and knowing _exactly_ what she's there for. Her long black dress was close fitting, with a pair of straps, showing off her cleavage with absolutely nothing left to the imagination. She smiled as she saw me. "Good evening, Franklin."

"It's wonderful to see you, Elizabeth. Please, come in. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes," I informed her, guiding her inside. She took in my mansion with a kind of dispassionate interest. Curious, but not impressed. It was not some bizarre eccentric's mansion where some peculiarity bloomed through every element of the design - a fascination with medieval stylings, for example - but rather simply the sort of thing one gets when one tells a very good interior decorator to make something both appealing and inoffensive.

"It's a very large home. Do you live alone?"

"Yes," I confessed. "To be honest, if I wasn't in my line of work, I would have bought something a bit cozier."

"In your line of work?"

"Appearances, for the clients. To show that I'm successful."

"I thought you were a famous defense attorney in the city? Wouldn't you be well known to be competent?"

I shrugged, as we headed through the living room to the dining room. "Perhaps. I purchased it earlier in my career, and haven't seen fit to replace it since. It will be half as large if I do find a wife, and then a third once I have a child, and so forth."

"I can see that, I suppose," she said, as I pulled out her chair, letting her take her seat. "I don't mean to complain or anything, our family home is bigger. I was just curious."

"No offense taken." I sat down across from her at the table. "So, how does the home match up to your expectations?"

She gave me a flirtatious smile. "Mm, I don't know. It's hard to say without seeing the rest of the rooms. It does feel a tad antiseptic, if I'm being entirely honest."

"Antiseptic?"

She shrugged. "I'd been hoping there'd be more of a show of personality somewhere. A sign of some particular interest. Even the bookshelf in the living room was just law books."

"Ah. Well, like I said - the home is mostly for appearances. I mostly spend my free time - when I spend it at home - in my study."

"I'll have to check that out, then," Elizabeth responded with a smile.

"Only if I can check out _your_ private workspace."

She paused momentarily, her expression conflicted. "My workspace is private. Even my parents don't enter it. Sorry. If you'd rather keep your study under wraps, I can respect that." She gave me a little smile at that.

"Really? You're not willing to show me your workspace?" The chef brought in the food, placing it down on the table between us as we spoke. "I figured that since you came over to my home on our third date, you trust me very deeply, Elizabeth."

She snorted, taking one of the sweet potato fries and dipping it in the little mustard cup. "Come on. You're like twice my age, I could take you in a fight. What are you going to do to me?" She elegantly sidestepped the reason she wasn't willing to show me her workspace.

"I'm still a fair bit taller than you," I said, as I cut a thin slice of steak out to eat.

"I know how to scrap," she replied, with a small smile that got a little wider at the look I gave her. "You want to test me?"

"Not in particular, no," I said. "I'll choose to trust you for the moment, and not take you into my secret kill room."

"Very thoughtful of you," she replied. We ate in a pleasant, if slightly awkward, silence for a little bit, before she chimed in. "You hear about the Roberts thing?"

"The councilman being tried for embezzlement?" She nodded. "Yes, I have. It's not really surprising, though I have to admit the whole thing mystifies me."

"How so?"

"Waste, mostly. It's the, mm..." I waved a hand. "You're getting some money, sure, but you're a city councilman, you're not exactly poor in the first place, and you risk public humiliation, arrest, loss of power, a long prison sentence, for... a few million bucks? Did he even buy anything worthwhile with it?"

She shrugged. "I'm not really aware of what he bought. I'm just glad that he was caught. Taking from the public purse like that is wrong."

"Then here's hoping that justice is served," I said, with a raise of my glass. She raised her own glass with a smile, and took a drink.

"There is one thing I've been kind of... hm." She paused, as she put down her glass. "How do you see this relationship going forward? I don't mean to..." she paused again, then gave a little awkward smile. "Sorry. I just worry a bit. I'm typically dating more in my own age range. Is this... are you..." She bites her lower lip. "I mean, I'd like to think I'm mature for my age, but this mumbly ass questioning isn't exactly showing it. You know what I'm asking," she decides on. "Am I a fun time girl, or do you see this going anywhere?"

"Elizabeth," I said, giving her a sincere look. "I've had plenty of 'fun time girls,' as you call it. If I wanted that, you would know. I sincerely want to get to know you better, and see how far we can take this."

She smiled at that, one finger absently playing with her hair. "Thanks. That's a huge relief. Sorry."

"It's quite alright," I told her. "Trust me - you're not that kind of girl."

"Damn right I'm not," she says, with a smile. "I was just worried you thought I was."

I shook my head, smiling back at her, and taking another bit of steak into my mouth. We talked a bit over the meal, about a variety of minor other subjects - her mentioning friends or work she was doing in her workshop - as we ate our way through perhaps half of what had been prepared. I took what remained and put it in the refrigerator, with Elizabeth offering her help at packing it up.

Elizabeth glanced around the kitchen for a few seconds before turning to me with a certain seductive smile. "If you feel like your study is your castle, how about your bedroom? I'd be interested to see it."

"Sure thing," I said, taking a wild guess at what direction she was going with it. I put one arm around her waist, enjoying the way she moved her body a little closer in response, and we soon found ourself in my bedroom. I had a large bed, a television, and an attached personal bathroom with a very large bath.

A book I was reading - The Great Leveler - sat on my night table, and she absently picked it up, reading over the back with some apparent interest, before sitting on the edge of the bed. "So this is the sort of thing you read for fun?"

"It is," I said, taking a seat next to her. She put it back down, snuggling up next to me, putting one hand on my thigh. I reached for her chin, taking it in my hand, and pulled her into a kiss, her ruby red lips pressing against mine. My tongue pushed past them, into her mouth, teasing her teeth for a moment before she let it further in. I put my hands on her hips, slowly directing her up, onto the bed, and she let me, her legs sliding her along until her head was on the pillows, her red hair in a mess around her features.

Unfortunately, we were both still clothed, but that was an issue that would be solved in due time. I finally broke off my kiss, and we both breathed heavily for a few seconds. Her hand came up to my face, thumb running along my lower lip. She wore a little smile. "Had a little drool," she explained.

I leaned down, kissing her on the lips again, my hands slowly pushing up her dress inch by inch as I did so, my body atop hers. I broke off our kiss, my lips pressing against her cheek, then down to the line of her jaw, getting a little giggle, as I continued to slowly strip her. My lips kissed against her neck, then down to her collarbone, and by that point I had finally managed to draw her dress up to around her waist, a glance downwards showing her pale, uncovered thighs.

Up close, one could see the muscle in them, the physical prowess her body carried, a product of her heroic career or a contributor to it, perhaps. I pulled the dress still further up, and kissed her toned stomach, making her shiver in expectation. Her fingers reached down for me, running through my hair idly, a soft smile on her lips, clearly enjoying herself, as I drew myself down to her thighs, kissing them as well, the inner flesh, and the outer, running along them in teasing circles rather than getting to a certain other point first.

Then I slowly pulled down her panties, a lovely black lacy pair. Her sex came into view, faintly glistening with arousal, and I leaned forward, giving a quick peck to it with my lips. Her red bush was kept fairly well maintained, and I admired her sex as I removed her panties entirely, tossing them over the bed and making her giggle a bit.

It was at that point that I pushed my head in between her thighs and started to lick her in earnest, running my tongue this way and that, making her twitch and pant, her legs sliding up, her thighs pressing against my head. I watched as she bit her lower lip, her black dress bunched up around her breasts, her eyes staring down at me with clear arousal, as I started to lick her thoroughly. As my tongue slid up towards her clit, she twitched, thighs clenching my head, her fingers grasping one of the pillows and digging it. I teased her for a few seconds more and gave a little kiss, making her whole body jerk as an orgasm ran through it, her hips pushing against my head, powerful thighs wrapping around me and holding me in place as she came, her breathing heavy as she did so.

When she came down, she let go of my head, looking apologetic for it, and I simply rose from my position between her thighs, wiping at my chin. I pulled down my own pants, stroking my cock, and gave her a look. "Do I need a condom?"

"I'm on the pill," she said. She swallowed, and I took my cock and aimed it at her sex. She closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring, and I pressed my way inside her, thrusting into her. Her whole body slid on the bed from the force of the stroke, and her eyes opened, staring up at me, a smile on her lips. Her hands reached up for my buttoned-up shirt, slowly undoing it as I fucked her in long, slow, steady strokes, and she licked her lips as my bare chest came into view, leaning up a bit to kiss at it, her eyes staring up at me with a loving expression on them.

Then she lay back down, her hands reaching for my backside, running along it teasingly, and she licked her lips. "Harder, darling," she said, and I increased the force of my thrusts, the word 'darling' only enticing me further. "Harder. Fuck your wifey harder," she demanded, and I started to fuck her nice and hard now, enjoying the way her tits bounced a bit.

"My wifey, huh?" I said, smirking.

She blushed. "It's... a fantasy, it keeps going through my head."

I leaned down, kissing her on the lips, my hands going to reach up under her dress, groping her tits. She moaned into my mouth, her hips pushing back against me, her legs wrapping around my waist. I pulled back. "It's a sexy fantasy, wifey," I said, kissing her nose, making her smile, those full lips of hers painted ruby-red with lipstick. "Mind pulling off the rest of your dress, wifey?"

She smiled, pulling it off, tossing it aside, leaving her naked beneath me as I fucked her. Her beautiful tits bounced, firm and soft in equal measure, a beauty to behold. I leaned down for one, kissing at the pale flesh, and she moaned a bit, running her fingers through my hair. "That's it, darling. That's it." I could feel her fingers start to dig into my hair, as she came closer and closer to the edge, before she finally exploded in orgasm, her insides tightening around me, milking me, her powerful legs practically dragging me all the way inside her, wrapped around me tight.

I groaned in pleasure, enjoying the feeling of her warm sex, and tried very, very hard not to orgasm. "Come for me, darling," she half-screamed out, as she came, and I couldn't hold it in at that point, letting go, filling her up with what felt like every single drop of cum in my balls.

When I was done, I slowly, carefully, extricated myself from her, her own legs letting me go, and flopped onto my back next to her, breathing heavily for the moment. She snuggled up next to me, resting her head on my upper arm, her bare breasts pushing into the side of my chest a bit, as she smiled up at me from there. "Enjoy yourself, Franklin?" She asked.

"Quite a bit," I admitted, still catching my breath.

"Sorry for surprising you," she told me. "With the darling and wifey thing. It's just... a sex fantasy, I keep having it. Being a housewife who greets her man with a prepared meal and a welcome home darling... is it weird?"

"I'm sure lots of women have similar fantasies." I kissed the top of her head. "One of my past girlfriends wanted me to choke her. A little roleplay isn't going to spook me."

She fidgeted for a moment. "It's really new. The past week or so. It's stupidly hot, and I don't know why."

"Does there need to be a reason? It's sexy, you're sexy, and we had some sexy fun times together."

"You're pretty sexy too," she teased, kissing my chest and snuggling in. She licked her lips. "Do you mind if I stay the night?" She shifted awkwardly atop me. "It's fine if you mind, I know it's pretty early."

I just leaned down towards her, taking her chin in my hand, and kissed her again, this time just a brief kiss. She blushed and smiled when I pulled away. "I'd love that," I told her. It'd give me the opportunity to give her an additional command very soon.

"Great," she said, smiling brightly, snuggling up next to me in a slightly less awkward position, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over our naked bodies. "Let's watch some TV," she suggested. I reached over for the night stand and turned on the TV, while she found a position she liked, snuggled in up next to me, my arm wrapped almost casually around her neck.

Three or four hours of various television shows later, we were both asleep.

I woke up to find Elizabeth no longer in bed with me, which annoyed me briefly, as I wondered if she'd wandered off or headed back home. When she returned to the bedroom a couple minutes later, wearing nothing but an old plain white apron of mine and a smile, bringing with her a bowl of reheated sweet potato fries, I became quite a bit less annoyed.

"Morning, darling," she said, teasing the word a little. "Too much?" She asked, a nervous smile on her lips.

"This is incredibly thoughtful," I told her. "I suppose you like to be a very generous lover, then?"

She smiled at that, and I gently took the bowl of fries from her, grabbing her wrist with my other hand and dragging her into bed as I scooted in further to give her space. She was almost naked; I was totally naked. "Thanks," she said.

"Thank _you_ \- you're the one who went and prepared some fries for me," I said, as I took one, offering it up to her. She nervously bit down on it, chewing. The apron showed off the curve of her breasts, her cleavage visible, the sides of her tits as well, with how big they were. It made my cock throb, as I ate some of the fries with her.

"I just reheated them, really," she said, wearing a lovely pink blush.

"I appreciate it a lot," I told her. I snaked one hand under her apron, rubbing her thigh. "A lot," I repeated, with a smile. I leaned forward to kiss her, and we enjoyed the taste of one another's lips for a long few seconds.

As she took another fry, her other hand slipped under the blanket, finding my quite erect cock, gently stroking it. "Hm, I don't know if you appreciate it, darling," she said, with this innocent teasing voice. My cock throbbed in response to that word, and she giggled a little. "You really like being called darling, don't you?"

"When it comes from the mouth of such a beautiful woman, I can't get enough."

"Darling," she said, staring me dead in the eyes. "Darling. Darling." Each time, my cock throbbed, and she smiled wantonly as it did. She gently picked up the bowl, placing it and the remnants of the fries on the nightstand. "I think you want to do something besides eat, darling," she said.

"I do." I practically growled out the words, and she giggled as I pulled her and twisted her by the hips, so that she was on her hands and knees, her sex glistening and ready. At the same time, I got up, positioning myself behind her. "I want to fuck my incredibly sexy wife," I told her, leaning over her, my cock rubbing between her thighs.

She giggled and waggled her butt, rubbing it against my stomach. It was firm, muscular, enticing. "Go ahead, then. What's stopping you?" She looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes mere inches from mine, and she was smiling. Tempting me with an expression that said nothing so much as _please fuck me._ "Darling?" She asked it so innocently, but she knew exactly what she was doing, by the smile on her lips.

At that point I grabbed my cock and just thrust into her in a quick stroke, making her squeak in surprise. My fingers grasped her hips, holding her tight as I started to fuck her in earnest, kissing her neck as I went. She panted, fingers digging into the sheets of the bed, her little apron sliding on her body as I fucked her hard and raw. It was exquisite, the feeling of her beneath me. Her expression was a mixture of pleasure and a hint of unmet desire, as if I was not _quite_ hitting the right buttons - but women will rarely tell you that unless you make them, so you have to work out what you're missing on your own.

"That's a good wifey," I whispered in her ear, continuing to fuck her. One finger sought out her clit, teasing it gingerly, rubbing the area around it, making her squirm. My other hand went up and under her apron, groping one of those fantastic tits that I would make very sure no other man ever got to enjoy touching again. It was soft and firm at the same time, giving just a bit to my hands on it, her nipple scraping against my palm as I fucked her.

She started to grind back against me, meeting my hard thrusts in with her own pumps back, her muscular butt pressing into my pelvis as I pushed inside again and again. She squirmed as my fingers played with her love button, as I lovingly groped her tits, as my lips kissed along her cheek and neck, as I admired her pale backside. She hummed and moaned, clearly enjoying herself, loving the treatment she was receiving.

"Darling," she panted out, and that made me thrust extra hard, making her squeak and let out a breathless laugh, "darling, tell, tell your wifey..." she bit her lip, suppressing a moan.

I could take a guess what she wanted me to tell her. "You're an amazing, beautiful, smart, helpful, sweet, excellent wife," I grunted out in her ear, and she squirmed in pleasure at those words, her whole body twitching, her cheeks flush with color. "I can't tell you how unbelievably sexy it is to get served breakfast in bed by such a fine woman," I added.

At that point, Elizabeth finally orgasmed, closing her eyes as she came. Her entire body seemed to lock up, her sex almost holding me in place as she came on the bed. Her head jerked about, and a splash of drool sailed down onto the sheets, an incredibly sexy sight that made me work to thrust harder into her convulsing sex. It was exquisitely pleasurable, having her sex working to milk my cock dry, and the animalistic noises escaping her lips added to the experience.

When she finally finished coming, the strength seemed to go out of her arms, and she collapsed onto the bed, cheek against the sheet. She breathed heavily, a serene look on her face, and my hand was caught between her tit and the bed, awkwardly squishing it in the process. I slowed my pace inside her, taking in the sight, this powerful woman on her knees and eagerly accepting my cock, _wanting_ me to call her my sexy wife, _wanting_ me to fuck her senseless, _wanting_ to call me darling again and again.

"Say that word again," I ordered her, as I made more methodical pushes into her, trying to get in deep and press at every point within her wet sex.

"Darl~ing." She breathed the word out, putting an incredible amount of feeling into it. It was almost a song, and I groaned in pleasure. "Darling," she panted, and I started to thrust into her in earnest again, enjoying the feeling of her tit pressing into my hand, my other still absently teasing her sex. She squirmed beneath me, practically writhing on the bed.

"I'm going to come," I grunted out, feeling my body near the point of no return.

"A~ah, darling," she panted out, "come inside, get your wifey pregnant." She squeezed my cock with her vaginal muscles, a conscious act, tightening them on my dick as she rested on her shoulders and knees, looking up at me out of the corner of her eye.

I could hardly reject such a request from such a beautiful woman, and let go, filling her waiting sex with my cum. She breathed out in pleasure, eyes closing as she felt me come, her fingers clenching the bed sheets as she practically thrust her butt back into me, her sex squeezing me just a little more, trying to get that little extra bit of semen out of my cock.

When I was completely, utterly finished, I pulled out, and collapsed on the bed, panting. She soon rose from her position, placing her head on my bare chest, snuggling in close to me, going so far as to wrap one of my arms casually around her waist. "Tell me how great I am again," she said, with a teasing, joking little smile. "Come on," she added, perching her chin on my chest, looking at me. "Do I have to call you darling again to get to hear it?"

"You are," I breathed out, "an amazing, beautiful, sexy, smart, wonderful, woman."

"There we go," she said, smiling, before resting atop me. We lay like that for a long minute before she rose, collecting the bowl of fries and coming over next to me with them. "Here," she added, smiling, offering one to hand feed to me. I obediently opened my mouth, letting her slowly slip the fry into my mouth, chewing on it as it came. She clearly enjoyed the task, and there was something quite nice about being treated so sweetly by such a sexy woman, so I just lay there and let her keep it up. She'd feed herself sometimes too. Finally, she leaned down and pecked my cheek. "I put my dress in your washing machine, so I'm going to go switch it to the drier," she explained, before hopping off the bed.

"Let me come with you," I said, standing up. I didn't want to risk her spending too long outside of my range. "Make sure you don't mess anything up."

She snorted as I grabbed a fresh pair of underwear. "I'm an MIT student, I think I can work out how to manage a drier."

"Still," I said. "It is my drier."

"Alright, alright," she said, raising her hands defensively but smiling at the same time. "Come on, then."

Of course, the actual process of switching a dress from the washer to the drier was neither difficult nor complex, but I wanted to stay close to her. "Now that that incredibly onerous task has been finished," I said, with a hint of joking self-deprecation, "care to watch some television with me back in my room?"

She smiled. "I can hardly leave wearing this," she said, with a gesture to the apron. "It's not mine, after all," she added.

I smiled at the joke. "There is one thing I think you should do before you leave." I pulled her into a loose hug as I said it.

"Oh?" She asked, looking up at me. "What's that?"

"Take a nice long bath. Mine is quite spacious."

She smiled at that. "I'm going to guess it's spacious enough for two?"

I nodded, and she took my hand, halfway dragging me to the bathroom. I took off my underwear, and she took off my apron, as the warm water slowly rose in the bath. We rested for a while there, chatting a bit, sometimes washing one another's bodies. When I finally saw her off a good half hour later, we were both very, very clean.

The next day I called her in the evening. "Elizabeth. Not in the middle of anything, are you?"

"No. Well, yes, but nothing I can't put on pause." I heard a chair scrape, as if she was standing up. "What is it?"

"I was just wondering if you'd like to come back to my place next Saturday. Perhaps with a change of clothes, so there's no need to use my washing machine?"

I could almost hear her blush, but there was a moment's silence on the other end of the line that dragged on just a bit too long. "That sounds like a good time," she replied.

"Great," I replied. "See you then?"

"Yeah. See you." She audibly swallowed before hanging up.

She rang my doorbell wearing a red variant on the dress she'd worn the previous week. A few minor differences - most particularly the presence of a little sash thing over the upper arms - but it was the same general principle: long, with a pair of straps and a plunging cleavage line. "Come in, Elizabeth," I said, with a smile.

"Thank you," was her reply, stepping inside. "It's nice to see you again, Franklin." She smiled nervously. "Anything interesting planned?"

"Isn't my company interesting?"

She laughed. "Perhaps, perhaps, but there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, you know?"

"No. First I've heard of it. I'll have to keep it in mind."

She smiled at that, stepping along with me as I wandered vaguely in the direction of the entertainment room. Then she gathered her courage and tapped my upper arm to get my attention. "Can I see your study?" She asked it with an expectation of rejection, almost more of a way to start a conversation than actual expectation of being allowed.

"Like I said last time - can I see your workspace?"

She paused, licking her lips. "Yeah," she said, with a nervous little smile. "Yeah. I trust you. So can I see your study?"

"Sure," I said, guiding her along with me. I unlocked the study. It was nothing fantastical, despite the forbidden fruit quality I'd granted to it. A wall of DVDs, games CDs, books, and even some old VHS tapes. A smaller television, a VCR, a DVD player. A computer and a desk. Some cabinets beneath the shelves.

She looked over it a few times, looking closely at the objects on the shelves, as if confused. "This is it? The big secret?" She seemed disappointed.

"It's my private sanctum," I explained. "But there are a few secrets here."

She squatted down - giving me an excellent view of her butt, her dress smoothly conforming to the curve of her ass and making me want to take her right there - and opened one of the cabinets. "Ah," she said, pulling out a ring gag, smiling a bit, looking up at me while almost jangling it. "I think I see what you were so worried about." She idly played with it for a couple seconds before putting it back up.

"Not much of a reaction."

"It's not really my thing, but as far as they go that's pretty tame." She glanced through the other cabinets, finding an assortment of various sex toys. Blindfolds, cuffs, gags, rope, a bullet vibe or three... "That it?" She asked, standing up.

"I'll tell you what you missed, but you have to tell me what I might miss if I went into your workshop."

She blushed momentarily, looking past me for a moment as she thought it over. "Okay. I trust you."

"Bottom right shelf," I said. "Photo album in the middle."

She stepped over to it, pulling it out, and started to flip through it. Her pace was slow. "These are some pretty risque photos," she said, "but they don't - oh wow."

I glanced over her shoulder. Ms. Calavatra, my high school Spanish teacher, naked but for a pair of socks, lying on bed and smiling for the camera. "I had to get rid of some of the earlier photos, for legal reasons." She frowned in confusion. "This is from when I was... fifteen, sixteen, seventeen? The girls were my age."

"Oh." Then it dawned on her. "Oh!" She blushed a bit. "So these are your high school girlfriends?" She flipped backwards, reappraising them, perhaps looking for some particular type.

"I don't know if girlfriend is quite the right term, but they agreed to pose for me. I wasn't that much of a photographer. It just goes on like that, if you're not..." I trailed off as she continued to flip through, her expression showing obvious curiosity.

"This is a lot of girls. You don't have something, do you?" She asked, glancing up my way.

"No, thankfully. When I was young I was less careful, but I've become a bit smarter about it since."

"You didn't ask me if I had anything," she pointed out.

"You're nineteen, smart, and well-off," I said, wrapping my arms around her for a moment, kissing the top of her head. "I'm not overly concerned."

"Still. This is a lot of girls." She absently ran her fingers over one image, somewhere around the one third mark, of three young women, all naked and smiling for the camera.

"Are you really concerned about STDs, or are you feeling a little bit jealous?" She blushed and fidgeted at that. "I can go get tested, if you like. My last checkup was six months ago."

She breathed in relief at hearing that. "No, it's fine," she decided on. "Maybe I am a bit jealous," she admitted, looking rather pouty.

"You," I said, gently running my fingers over the fabric of her dress where it covered her stomach, "are quite a bit more special than any girl in there."

"How many girls are there in here?" She asked.

"I think..." I tapped her stomach a bit as I thought it over. "Forty nine, if I recall correctly."

"That's a lot of girls," she said, pensively.

"The last serious girlfriend I had, I was twenty one. It's been a long time since I've been properly, romantically, involved with a woman. If you have just a couple a year, it adds up."

"You mean the last serious girl ** _friends_** you had," she corrected.

"That is true," I admitted. "Like I said, though - not an experiment that bears repeating. Still. There's the grand secret I'm keeping in here. What about you?"

She paused for a moment, pulling away to face me. She looked in my eyes closely, then nodded to herself. "I'll tell you what you'd find if you looked closely enough."

I nodded along, gesturing for her to continue.

She rubbed her face for a moment, on the precipice of something that can't be taken back. "I'm the Ruby Shield."

I blinked, feigning surprise. "The vigilante?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The vigilante." She smiled awkwardly.

"So you're a genius inventor, as well as a beautiful society debutante?" She blushed at the compliment.

"I guess... well, I don't know if I'd describe myself as an inventor, really, even if the television does. It's more like, I'll take an idea someone else had, or something somebody made, and I'll take it apart, dissect it, put it back together again. Make it work... better. People have made jetpacks, but I worked out a trick with a ramscoop to make it so it lasts longer than half a minute; worked out and worked with the gyroscopics to make it almost trivial to make tight maneuvers; just generally made it better. That's all my tech, really. Something somebody else did, but I ironed out the kinks and made it convenient. More convenient, at least."

"Any reason you don't resell some of your technology? It seems like you could make a lot of money off it."

"Oh, God," she said, with a look on her face. "Because it's trash." She laughed, running her fingers through her hair. "They don't mention it on the news, because I keep it a secret, but a lot of my stuff breaks when I try to use it under actual conditions. I stress tested my jetpack out in the country while wearing a parachute, and when it got damaged in a fight, I had to just build a new one because I couldn't figure out where it went wrong. It's not..." she trailed off, rubbing her fingertips as she looked for the words. "It's art. I have it as art. You know how to write, it doesn't mean you know how to write a book about writing. There's all these bits and pieces I can't quite articulate, I don't even notice. One time, I-" she cut herself off. "I'm just not there yet. I'm babbling."

"It's very interesting," I told her. "Come on. Keep going."

"I feel like... you know how an athlete will say, 'oh, I just let go and stop thinking,' or a scientist will say, 'the answer came to me in my sleep'? That not thinking about it is the solution?" I nodded along. "It feels like that, maybe. Or, something like that. It makes me wonder if my head's different from other people's. Like I'm subconsciously solving problems that my conscious mind doesn't understand. Or... something like that, anyway." She shook her head. "That's why I'm going to college," she said it with a smile. "Trying to... to fit it all together, to make it so I can put down on paper the right version of my designs. Anyway. Yeah. Please don't tell anyone."

"That you're a genius?"

"That I'm a superheroine."

"It's simply another way that you're absolutely incredible," I said, with a confident smile, making her shoulders sag with relief, tension rolling out of heer. I took one hand and gingerly pressed my fingers against her cheek, before leaning in to give her a brief, sweet kiss. My fingers absently played with her gorgeous red hair for a moment.

"Thanks. Great, I mean," she corrected, smiling, putting on some extra confidence. "You can't tell anybody about this," she added, with a serious look.

"Of course not. You have my confidence." I took her hand gently in mine, smiling all the while. Of course, I knew that sooner or later we'd reach this point, so it was easy to play the part of the perfect boyfriend, accepting and sweet. "I take it you're feeling good about 'us,'" I said, as I guided her into the back.

"Yeah," she replied. She squeezed my fingers. "Even more, now. I was really worried about telling you that, but... I don't know." She brushed some of her hair to one side. "I feel like I can trust you."

I just smiled back, leaning down to kiss her, making her giggle for a moment. Of course I knew why she felt that way - I'd forced her to - but the sincerity of it was still cute. "I'm glad you feel that way."

"Nice pool," Elizabeth said. "I didn't bring a swimsuit," she added, looking as though she was irked by that oversight.

"That's fine," I said, with a trace of a smirk. "There's nice, tall fences all around. We can skinny dip."

She blushed, pushing her tongue against the inside of her lower lip for a moment, making it bulge. "Sure. Let's do it. Not like it's anything I haven't seen before, right? Where should I put my dress?"

I showed her the adjoining shower I used to change, wash, and dry after a good swim. She stripped - unfortunately, not an even I got to see - and hung up her dress with delicate precision inside. Soon, the two of us were in the water, and she was being quite careful to keep her body beneath the water line, only her neck and the hint of collar bone visible. Well, the rest was also visible, but rather distorted.

I snuggled up behind her, my cock pressing into her back, making her blush bright red. It's interesting, sometimes, what makes an otherwise sexually confident and collected woman start acting like a blushing virgin. My hands brushed absently along her stomach, and I perched my chin on the top of her head. "You know, if you hide in the water like that, we can't really swim or do much else but talk."

"I like talking to you," she said, putting on a smile.

"You'd think after we made passionate love a couple times, you'd be more used to me seeing you naked. Didn't we share a bath, too?"

"That's different," she said, almost steaming in embarrassment.

I nibbled on her ear. "I suppose it is. Perhaps it'd be easier for you if we were making love right now?" I teased, my fingers sliding further south.

She shook her head, not even speaking, and I pulled the hand back up.

"That's fine." I leaned down and kissed her neck. "I enjoy your company all for itself. Your amazingly sexy body is just a bonus."

"I guess the advantage of being an older guy is you can just say things like that," Elizabeth said with a half-joking tone.

"Oh? My sexual confidence too much for you?"

"Don't get too cocky," she replied, turning on me. "You're pretty good in bed, but don't feel like you're some sexual god or something."

"Don't worry, I don't," I told her. "Though I do have to admit a bit of disappointment that you don't come easily and often when you're with me, I just suppose that means I have to learn your body better."

She laughed at that. "I'll look forward to it." She put one hand on my chest, then let it slowly slide down my body, her fingers slowly wrapping around my cock, tentative and soft as she looked me dead in the eyes. "I do like the way you fuck me, though," she said, in this lusty, seductive tone. "Don't feel too put out just because I don't come buckets."

"I just like to be a generous lover," I told her. There is something about having a woman come over and over to your touch that is absolutely exquisite.

"I'll bet," she said, pulling her hand off my cock, leaving me high and dry for the moment. "You normally date girls as young as me?"

"As I've told you before, I haven't dated a girl properly since college. And you've seen my typical age range, in that album. What would you guess?"

"...typically a bit older than me."

"Do you feel self-conscious about it?"

"Maybe a little," she said, in a tone of voice that implied forcing the words out was like having a tooth pulled.

I kissed her forehead. "Well, don't. You're a brilliant young woman. The fact that I'm a bit older than you doesn't matter to me."

"You've got lots of life experience..."

"You're a literal superheroine," I told her, with a smile. "That doesn't count for anything?"

She tilted her head, considering the question, and then smiled. "I guess it does. How many criminals have you beaten up?"

"Zero. I'm more the talker type than the bruiser."

She winked, turning around and rubbing her back against me. "Then I guess we make a good team, huh?" She teased.

My hands ran along her body, and we kept each other company for a couple hours before getting out to eat dinner.

Dinner was rather less exceptional this time around - I didn't particularly want to constantly have some chef coming into my home over and over again, especially when I was going to toy with Elizabeth's head until she was happy to do all the cooking. Instead, I made a light meal of grilled cheese sandwiches and bacon, which Elizabeth ate with due grace and no insults to my cooking skills.

She was the one who initiated sex that night - her on top, calling me 'darling,' clenching her beautiful thighs around my hips as she rode me like a wild woman. "There's my darling husband," "Ah, your cock's so big today, darling," "Sorry for teasing you, darling," "Do you want to come, darling?" "Do you like it, darling?" "I'm all wet for you, darling."

She managed to come three before collapsing atop me, forcing me to do the rest of the work to get myself off, grasping her hips and pumping her up and down. She hummed and nibbled my neck as I used her wet sex like a sex toy, and happily accepted a thick load of cum inside her before peeling herself off me and flopping to one side. We watched an episode of some trashy television show and then took a quick bath before returning to bed - neither of us wasted time getting dressed.


End file.
